A/N Hellos! So- all the South African schools actually do exist. Crawford, St Stithians and St Andrews (except the last 2 charge a ridiculously high fee so I have no clue what it would ever be like going to schools like that...). The schools in London, however, are entirely fictional.

And if certain bits seem less emotional than it should, it's because it will be explained further in the next chapter.

Also, see if you can spot Riyaadh and Fayaaz anywhere in the story. Bonus points if you do!

Also, please. Mikaeel is NOT jealous of Imaad. He's just scolding him as a decent uncle should be when kids need to learn something.

........................................................................................................

Someone was groping her chest...

Very studiously at that.

"Uncle Mickey, how come you and Aunty Hooriya feel different here?" Imaad's hushed question was emphasised with a bit of a squeeze over said area.

"I'm dreaming." She heard him mutter bitterly before she felt the blankets shift as he turned around.

"No you're not!" He laughed as if his uncle had said the funniest thing in the world. "You're awake Aunty Hooriya!" Imaad's smile almost split his face as she blinked up at him. The bright yellow batman logo on his t-shirt seemed to assault her eyes as she took in his cross legged position between her and Mikaeel.

"Uhm hmm." Hoori hummed, looking down oddly at his hand still very much so attached to her chest.

"How come you feel all squishy here and Uncle Mickey doesn't?"

Squishy?

"Squishy?" Mikaeel mumbled her exact sentiments as he looked warily up at Imaad. "She feels squishy?"

"Ya! Do you want to feel? It's kind of like the jelly mummy makes sometimes."

Jelly. Squishy jelly?!

It was too early in the morning...

"Keep your hands to yourself Imaad." Mikaeel chastised him, gripping his small hand in his before he moved it away from Hoori.

"Are you going back to sleep Uncle Mickey?" Imaad asked, tucking himself back under the covers before he snuggled into their pillows.

"Yes."

"Oh." He seemed to deflate at the idea of being awake by himself. "But then who's going to talk to me?" He whined, not at all happy with the prospect of keeping quiet.

"Go talk to your mother."

"No!" He immediately shunned the idea. His mother was scary in the mornings. She always shouted at him whenever he woke her up till eventually his daddy carried him down the stairs to watch cartoons with him. "But you never answered my question Uncle Mickey! How come you feel a little bit like me and Aunty Hooriya doesn't?"

"Go ask your mother." He grumbled.

How in the hell was he supposed to answer that kind of a question?

"Fine!" Imaad wasn't happy about being sent away but his uncle was just like his mother. They were both grumplestilskins and they only got worse if he kept asking them questions.

"Thank fuck for that..." Mikaeel muttered as soon as he heard his bedroom door close. He turned to look at Hooriya, wondering if she had gone back to sleep or not. He was met with an amused smile as she looked at him, trying hard not to laugh. "What?"

"You never answered Imaad's question you know." Her voice was still a little scratchy from sleep and her eyes looked tired as focused on him.

"What question?"

"Do you want to feel, Mikaeel?" She was close to exploding into mad laughter at the look on his face.

"Are you propositioning me?" He asked, somewhat slyly.

"In your parent's house?" She smiled wryly. "Never."

And with one final wink, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

...

"Did you send Imaad back to my room this morning?" Ilhaam asked, pouring milk into her cereal bowl.

"You should teach your kid to stop groping people."

"Shit..." She whispered to herself. "Did he ask you why you and Hoori feel all different?"

"He asked why Hoori feels like your squishy jelly and I don't." Mikaeel felt even more bizarre saying the words that the words themselves.

"Oh God." She shook her head tiredly. She had more than enough of her son asking females why they had boobs while men didn't. "How's the wanker?"

"Ihsaan?" Mikaeel couldn't believe she still called him a wanker.

"Ya."

"He's getting discharged today."

"Oh." She nodded, barely even hearing what he had said. She wasn't sure why she had even asked. As far as she was concerned, the wanker could go and fuck himself off a cliff and she wouldn't actually care.

"Hey." Hoori's voice flitted through the kitchen from the doorway.

"Hey." Ilhaam looked up at her. "I'm sorry about Imaad."

"No it's fine. Don't worry about it." Hoori smiled, still reeling from the early morning events.

"What did he watch last night?"

"The chronicles of Narnia."

"Oh."

"Mummy." A yawning Imaad walked barefoot into the kitchen, completely ignoring everyone else as he walked up to his mother.

"Yes." Ilhaam asked, already pouring his milk for his Otees.

"When is our holiday finished? I'm bored." He settled into her lap, leaning against her chest as he waited for her to pour his cereal.

"Uhm." Ilhaam face crumpled behind Imaad's head as she tried to reign in her tears. How could she possibly explain that they were never going back- at least not for a very long time?

Maybe she was just being selfish?

But wasn't Shaheen selfish too? No...

He needed to change. She wouldn't go back until he changed.

But...

"Uhm, it's just a little while longer okay Imaad."

"But when is Daddy coming?" He had forgotten that his mother had left his father once before so he simply never remembered being without his father.

"He's just..." She looked away from Mikaeel and Hoori, ashamed to be crying in front of them at all. "He's just a little busy with work right now. He'll come as soon as he can." She tried smiling, not wanting Imaad to worry about her as she spoke.

"And Zahra and Burhaan?"

"They have school, boy. You're the only one special enough to come for a holiday."

"Oh." He shrugged happily before shoving a huge spoonful of Otees into his mouth, completely unaware of the fact that his mother was practically dying behind him. She had never in her life thought she would use her own mother's worn out excuses to pacify her child. How many times had Saadiya told them that their father was at work?

That their father was gone for a conference.

That he was gone for a workshop.

That he was gone for a training course.

And how many times, she wondered, was her mother actually lying.

...

It was late by the time Mikaeel walked into their house. He wasn't sure why he had even bothered going to see Ihsaan. He was such a fucking little shit. He was tired of him moping around and that bullshit about killing himself. The fucker was too much of a snivelling little bitch to actually do anything about it except whine and complain to anyone who would listen to him. As it was, the asshole was high out of his mind and he was already talking about going out and getting even more fucked in his brain.

He dropped his keys and laptop onto the front table, surprised at how quiet it really was in the house. Usually the tv would be on or Hoori would be in the kitchen, puttering around with her laptop humming whatever rubbish came to her head.

"Hoori?"

"Ya?"

Was she upstairs?

He followed his thoughts up the stairs, pausing in their room doorway at the sight of her on the floor surrounded by all the shit in their cupboard.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning the cupboard." She said distractedly, flipping through the white magazine in her hand. "You left it in a real mess while I was gone."

He didn't even bother gracing her statement with a reply. "How did you even get upstairs?"

"Michelle was here today. I asked her to help me." She looked down at something, smiling lightly at the tiny rectangular picture.

"What's that?" He walked in, completely ignoring the blank space that used to hold their massive bed. The room looked strange as fuck without it. It was probably why he hardly bothered going into it anymore.

She picked up the cover to show him, lost in the memories unlocked by all the pictures before her.

"Did you take that from home?" He looked down at the book quizzically.

"No." She looked at him strangely. "It was always here under our wedding album."

"We have a wedding album?"

"It's blank." She shook her head at the mindless gift from her cousin.

"But I don't remember bringing that from home."

"Why would you be having my school yearbook?" She looked at him as if he were crazy.

"You went to Craword?"

"Ya up till grade 3."

"I was there till grade 4." He looked at her strangely. What kind of a mind fuck situation did they just land themselves in?

"No way." She looked down at the book in her hand before she looked up at him again. "The one in Sandton?"

"Uhm hmm."

"That's..." She rubbed at the back of the neck as she considered it. "Wait," She flipped the pages till she found the grade 4 section, still unable to fathom that they had actually been in school together. "Oh."

There he was.

She smiled as she looked down at his picture. He looked like a little pixie with his small face and his thick, dark hair. "So serious..." She mused, looking down at the little ten year old in the picture. She wracked her brains, trying hard to place him but grade 3 had been a long, long, long time ago. She could barely remember who it was she had played with much less the kids in the other grades.

"And you?" He asked, shifting just a little closer to her so that he could thumb through the pages as he looked for the grade 3 photos. His eyes almost popped out of his head at the messy little girl in the picture before them.

T. Hooriya

Oh.

What?

Her hair was tied up but still, strands escaped her ponytail to hang all over her face. Her skewed alice band did nothing to hold her fringe back and her tie wasn't even tied properly but he was sure he had never even seen her before.

It was so...

So...

Wierd.

"It's weird isn't it?" She asked taking the words right out of his mind.

"Ya..."

"What school did you go to afterwards?"

"St Stithians."

"I knew you were a private school snob." She teased, rubbing her thumb aimlessly over the little black and white photo of herself. She was smiling so wide in that picture. She was smiling as if it wasn't her aunty that had dressed her for school that day but her mother. She was smiling as if they didn't ignore their daughters as they spent weeks away, disposing of them at Uncle Ashraf's house before coming back to fetch them.

"And what school did you go to?'

"St Andrews for girls and then when we went to London..."

"Ya?"

"Uhm," she wasn't even sure why she was embarrassed to tell him but she just knew he would laugh at her if she said the name. "Miss Margret's Academy for Young Ladies." Her voice dropped a few decibels towards the end as she tried to ignore the look on his face.

"And I'm the private school snob?" He looked at her, amused at her reaction to it.

"Ya..."

"Did you have to wear those sun hats?"

"Only in the courtyard..."

"Oh God. You were a little snob."

"It takes one to know one." She mumbled, turning the pages slowly. She hadn't even realised that her hands began to shake as she neared the grade 5 photos.

"And did you have to wear those short skirts too?" His lips grazed her ear as he whispered to her.

"Yes."

"How short?"

Oh God... Please don't giggle.

"Very short."

"I can't really imagine it."

"Well you shouldn't." She countered.

"Maybe you should show me?"

Is he actually messing with her?

Mikaeel?

Messing with her?

"Maybe I will."

"Really?"

"No." She shook her head, smiling at their silly banter. She would have never imagined them to have ever had a conversation like that.

Ever.

She carried on thumbing through the pages, ignoring the spike in her heartbeat as she neared the one picture that she knew was there...

She was getting closer now.

And closer

And closer...

Till finally, she stopped, looking down at the picture with a small smile in her face.

Jannat T.

"That's my sister."

"Hoori Noori. You ready for picture day?" Jannat asked, waiting for her sister to buckle her school shoes.

"Ya. Aunty Mariam made me shower last night and today for it." she said, frowning at the idea. "How is anyone going to see if I showered in the picture?"

"I don't know." Jannat said, considering the notion as she braided the strands on the side of her face. "Anyways, there's Uncle Joseph coming. Let's go."

"I don't want to go to school." She said petulantly, folding her arms defiantly as Uncle Joseph walked closer towards them.

"Why not?" Jannat looked down at her, sighing at her stubbornness.

"These 2 boys in grade 1 and 2 threw worms in Matt and Taariq's jockeys."

"So?"

"So what if they throw worms in my panties?" She asked, outraged at the notion.

"They won't throw worms in your panties and if they do, I'll throw worms in their panties okay."

"Okay." She giggled, finding the idea of them wearing panties utterly hilarious.

"Now come on. Don't make Uncle Joseph carry your bags. You can do it yourself." She chastised lightly, forcing her sister to hurry up.

"I'm coming... Jeez louise."

Mikaeel looked down at the picture, unable to comprehend that the girl in the picture was Hoori's sister. They looked the polar opposite of each other but still somehow...

It was strange. Where Hoori had brown hair, Jannat's hair was pitch black and where Hoori was fair in complexion, Jannat was much, much darker than her. But her dark complexion only allowed for her bright, blue eyes to stand out even more.

She must have been a fucking knockout when she grew older.

But the strange thing was that while there were such huge differences between them, they still looked almost exactly the same.

"Apparently she looked like my Dad's mother." Hoori said, her soft voice jolting Mikaeel from his thoughts.

"Ya?"

"Uhm hmm." She looked down at the picture again, reminiscing all the times she had ever, ever spent with her sister. "My sister was what you would call a gifted student."

"Really?"

"It was part of the reason why we moved to London. My dad wanted her to go to the..." She paused trying to remember the name of her school. "The Graham School of Mathematics. Apparently it has one of the best maths programs in the world."

She pulled lightly at the ends of her hair, thinking about all the times they had to leave each other as they went off to their separate boarding schools. "She just... knew maths. She could calculate all these weird complex things in her head and I remember once, my dad tested her against a calculator and she lost by a split second."

"You were never jealous?" Shit, if one of his siblings was a gifted kid, he would hate the fucker to hell and gone.

"No. I don't know. I never tried competing with her. And I saw her so rarely that we never bothered with school whenever we did see each other." She shifted so that she could wrap her arms around her knees. "My parents got married when they were well into their forties. They already established the company and somewhere along the way they fell in love I guess."

She never doubted the fact that her parents loved each other. They were completely devoted to one another, that much was always plain. But the doubt that they simply didn't love their daughters had always lingered in the back of her mind and that doubt had just about poisoned her own love that she felt for her parents themselves.

"They never expected to ever have children. My Mum thought she was too old so you can imagine her surprise when she fell pregnant with Jannat and then even worse when she fell pregnant with me."

Mikaeel could scarcely believe that she was talking about her parents. For as long as they were married, her parents had remained a sealed book that he had never even caught a whiff off.

If there was a more fucked up family than his, it had to have been hers.

He only found out she had a sister a year after they were married for God's sake!

"It's not that they were bad, they were just never ever there. Jannat was... She was more than just my sister. She looked after me. She taught me about life. She taught me about my period and about boys and about sex. She taught me... everything I guess." She shrugged sadly as she dwelled on the idea of it all.

"When she found the lump in her right breast, she was sure it was benign. I mean, which 19 year old gets breast cancer? Old ladies get breast cancer. Not girls fresh out of finishing school." She hadn't even realised she had begun to cry until she felt the droplet of water on her hands. "When she found out she had stage 3 cancer, it was like we just stopped existing for a while. We were stuck in this little bubble that consisted of chemo and tablets and chemo and hormone therapy and chemo and tablets and radiation and tablets... And that's all we knew for two years."

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth remembering what it was like to help her after her chemo sessions...

Hoori waited outside the door, wincing as she heard violent retching coming from inside the bathroom. It was her second round of chemotherapy and this time seemed even worse than the last. Jannat could barely stand when she walked out of the bathroom, holding onto Hoori for support.

"What can I get you?" Hoori asked, lifting the blankets as her sister shuffled slowly beneath the covers.

"Nothing." she mumbled, shivering lightly till Hoori covered her up.

"You have to eat something. And orange, an apple... something. You haven't eaten anything in 2 days."

"Fine." She sighed, already feeling nauseous from the idea of it. "You can bring me an orange."

"Okay just-" She was interrupted by Jannat reaching frantically for the metal dustbin beside her bed, just about making it before she vomited once again.

"It's weird. My parents develop different types of tablets but nothing they made would ever help her. After she got sick, we saw them even less. They were apparently trying to develop something to help her but she never wanted their medication. She already knew that she was dying. After a year and a half, the cancer had spread too far for anything to help but still they never came."

She sighed painfully, tasting her tears as they fell into her mouth. "The day she died, they had only just made it to the hospital in time. I don't know what they were doing but they made it into her room barely five minutes before she died...

"You know you when you asked me why I married you?"

"Ya."

"The truth is," she hesitated, wiping away her tears almost uselessly. "After Jannat died, our house became like a morgue. My parents were never there and it was more lonely than it had ever been before. They just... They forgot that I was still there and when we came back to South Africa I felt like I had a family again. When we lived next to Uncle Ashraf, it was just about the best thing to have ever happened. My parents never knew it, but I found out they wanted to move back to London. It was a few weeks before your mother called and..."

She finally turned to look at him, resting her cheek on the top of her raised knees. "When your proposal came I didn't care about the fact that I didn't actually like you. I wanted to stay in South Africa so badly that I just said yes. I couldn't go back. I didn't ever want to go back to that house. It felt as if I was suffocating in that place. They just..."

Her breaths seemed ragged as she remembered all the times she woke up alone or the nights she ate her supper by herself of the endless weeks she spent alone in her house waiting for them to come home from whichever country they had gone to. It felt as if she was just sucked into a never ending vortex that was just always dark and lonely and they never once remembered that she was still there.

She was still alive.

She didn't die.

But they still forgot about her.

Her face pinched closed at the thought of it all.

"I just wish they loved me Mikaeel." She covered her face with her hands, muffling her voice as she spoke.

"Just once. I wish they loved me just once."